


Ficlet: Touch

by Jacqueline Albright-Beckett (xaandria)



Series: Between The Lines [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comforting, M/M, Pre-Relationship, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:45:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8493934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaandria/pseuds/Jacqueline%20Albright-Beckett





	

Dean paused at Castiel’s bedroom door. As usual, it wasn’t closed; Castiel did not seem to understand the need for privacy. Dean rapped a knuckle on it anyway.

“You’re wasting your time.”

“Mine to waste,” Dean replied, shrugging. He crossed the short distance to the foot of the bed and lowered himself onto it; the bed was narrow enough that after the mattress settled, his hip pressed against Castiel’s. He decided to ignore that rather than shift away. “Tell me what’s eating you, Cas. You don’t just up and explode like that unless there’s a reason.”

Castiel stared at his hands for the space of several breaths. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

“It’s the coffeemaker you should be apologizing to. I’ve never heard such verbal abuse.” Dean was rewarded with the slightest shadow of a smile that disappeared almost as soon as he saw it. “You’re not pissed at the coffeemaker. Or at me. But you’re pissed at something. Tell me what, and I’ll go shoot it for you.”

Another dim smile, this one lingering for almost a full heartbeat. “Frustrated would be a better word for it.” Castiel held out a hand and watched it for a moment before placing it on the edge of a chair. “Even at my lowest low - so drained of everything angelic about me that I was nearly human - I could still touch this chair and know the tree it came from. Trace the tree back to the acorn it once was, follow every drop of water that ever nourished it back to their memory of clouds.” He tapped the chair. “It just feels like a chair.”

Dean licked his lips. “If it’s any consolation, I doubt that chair was ever a tree. It’s from Ikea.”

This time Castiel didn’t smile. “I used to be able to experience God’s creation to its fullest extent possible. That’s only an example of how it felt, one that you might be able to understand.” His eyes grew distant. “I never thought I’d miss that immersion. I never thought it would be something that I would never have again. This -” he gestured at himself - “is like being wrapped in cotton and sealing wax and left in a dark room. Even when I’ve stubbed my toe or pulled a muscle or burned my tongue with coffee - it’s like I can’t feel anything.” He lowered his hand to join with his other, fingers laced, and he dropped his eyes to them as well. “Sometimes I think I’ll never feel anything vividly again.”

“Hey.” Dean settled an arm across Castiel’s shoulders in a half-hug. “You feel that?”

Castiel nodded.

Dean gave Castiel’s upper arm a squeeze. “How about that?” He didn’t wait for a response; instead he leaned forward to try and catch Castiel’s downcast eyes. “The life history of a chair isn’t important. Not to humans. But if I do this -” he pulled Castiel against him in another hug - “You feel that. Somewhere in your gut you can sense that I’m trying to make you feel better. That’s important. That’s what humans use touch for.”

“It isn’t quite the same,” Castiel said, but most of the bitter notes had drained from his voice. He raised his eyes from his hands and met Dean’s with a melancholy half-smile. “But it’ll do.”


End file.
